Trip of a Lifetime
by TraptyetfreE
Summary: When the freshly graduated Ron, Harry, and Hermione, along with the Double Trouble team Fred and George, embark on a backpacking trip around Europe, adventure, humor, panic, and a good dose of general chaos ensues.
1. Of Ghosts and Chickens

OK, so this is like my third fanfiction that I've started, and neither of the other two got past the third chapter, so don't get your hopes up, but I'm really gonna try to keep this story going because I like the characters. Comment if you want to, flame if the urge takes you or if you just need something to scream about, or just read the story and don't comment and make me feel unspecial tear.

Disclaimer: What exactly does disclaimer mean? Rupert is mine. Harry Potter is not mine, but Muffles the purple dog is. Kudos to JK for an awesome idea that I had no part in creating.

Anyways, ONWARD!

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A cool breeze wafted down the cobblestone street, rustling the leaves that were slowly turning brilliant colors in anticipation of autumn. Birds chirped happily from the air, and squirrels chittered as they gathered their precious acorns. The great majority of the human residents living in this particular part of London were strewn about on their slightly parched lawns, some grilling, others mowing, a few trying fruitlessly to restrain screaming children. All in all, it could have been called a perfect summer day. Special emphasis on the words, 'could have been.'

At the very end of this lazy street lay a massive house, one equipped with pillars and marble and pools and gardens and sheds that could only be called sheds because of their relative size compared to the main house. All the locals called the house the 'White House,' on account of its extravagant size, although it didn't really apply since the exterior of the house was a brilliant lime green. The house was rumored to be haunted, and its inhabitants believed to be witches--but of course it was all utter nonsense.

The stillness of the day was suddenly shattered when a yelp emitted from the top window on the fourth floor of the house, although the noise was generally ignored. Only a group of very small children glanced to the green monstrosity, their small eyes trained on the window in question, but no more sound issued and the children slowly lapsed back into a coma-like state.

Hermione Granger was on a mission: to pack for two whole weeks in less than an hour. It wasn't generally like her to procrastinate so badly, but her job at the Ministry, visits from her family, and a severe need for chocolate had left her no other choice. So here she was now, way up on the highest floor of the lime green house, throwing clothes pell-mell around her bedroom in desperation. She was currently trying to find her black sweater, but was temporarily distracted when Rupert decided to poke his head into her room. She let out a shriek of surprise and dropped the article of clothing she was holding. His head immediately disappeared from the center of her brick wall and reappeared, with his body attached, in her doorway. She opened her mouth to let forth a stream of obscenities, but Rupert beat her to it. He hung his transparent head in shame and stared at his feet, his sad voice issuing forth, "My sincere apologies, madam, but 'tis such a hastle to travel all the way around to the doorway."

Hermione softened, quelling the urge to pat his shoulder. "That's quite alright, Rupert. Would you mind doing me a favor and searching my closet for my black sweater?" He nodded his head, eager to help the girl, and immediately dove headfirst through the side of the cabinet. Hermione stifled a chuckle and bent down to look beneath her bed, searching for anything else she may have missed, when a resounding _crack!_ issued from her window. Her bushy head shot up to see Pigwidgeon banging himself against the glass in urgency to get in. She shook her head and opened the window, silently wondering whether it was possible for owls to have ADHD as she snatched the fuzzy bird out of the air.

Ron's untidy scrawl greeted her from the front of the parchment tied to the bird's leg. She rid Pig of his burden and threw an owl treat up in the air to temporarily shut the bird up. The letter rolled open easily, and Hermione was immediately blinded by an obscene amount of glitter reflecting the sunlight.

_Hermione-_

I know this letter is sort of late and all, seeing as we're leaving in about ten minutes for King's Cross, but I just thought I'd remind you that we're backpacking--_ you know, that Muggle way of traveling with a big sack on your back with all your crap in it. I do hope you've got one of those. It was one of Dad's last minute "ingenious ideas," doing things the Muggle way. Mum wasn't too thrilled. Then again, she's not too thrilled that the five of us are going to roam about the continent unsupervised either, but I'm sure you'll hear all about _that_ soon enough. Got to go, Dad's yelling for us to get in the car. Don't bother sending a response, Pig'll get too confused. Bring him with you to the station._

-Ron

P.S. Sorry about all the glitter-- Ginny's going through what Mum calls a "sparkle phase."

Hermione read the letter three times fast in succession, her mind numb and her brow furrowed. How typical of Ron to forget such an important detail until the very last possible second. Where in the name of Pete the basset hound was she to find a friggin backpack? It was at that moment that Rupert decided to emerge from her closet, carrying her sweatshirt in one hand and a ginormous leather-bound book in the other.

He carefully lay the sweatshirt down and held the book up for her to see, commenting as he huffed in effort to keep the book from falling to the ground, "I rather thought you'd like a bit of light reading." He attempted to hide a smile behind one pasty-white hand, but failed miserably since his flesh was translucent. Hermione took the book and was about to set it down when her eyes were again assaulted by shininess. The sun was reflecting off the biggest word on the book, proudly declaring itself a "TRANSFIGURATION" book. She stared at the book, then at the letter, then at her wand, and began to laugh. A memory of herself standing below a great writhing plant resurfaced in Hermione's mind, and the ghost of Harry's voice could be heard yelling at her, "Are you a witch or not?!"

"Hermione, old girl, you're losing it." she muttered below her breath, before swishing her wand towards her suitcase and watching it morph, flubber-like, into a backpack.

Twenty minutes later and plagued by the hooting, screeching, flying annoyance that was Pigwidgeon, Hermione climbed into the back seat of her car and pulled out her CD player, absentmindedly choosing a disk and letting it play while she flipped through "Backpacking for Idiots."

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"Muffles! Stop eating the palm tree, you disgusting dog, you just peed in that pot five minutes ago." scolded a ruffled Harry Potter as he shoveled down an impromptu breakfast of toast and eggs. The terrier/lab mix shook its great purple head, spraying the carpet with wood shavings. It ambled up to Harry and gave him the classic puppy dog look, forcing the former to surrender the last quarter of toast to the dog.

"Does Muffles want to go hiking? Hmm? You wanna go hiking?" Harry asked the mutt as he headed toward the bathroom, smiling as the dog nodded its head. "Assa good boy…yeahh, good boy!" Muffles panted as his head was scratched expertly. Harry laughed, envious of the simple life his dog led.

Harry had moved into a flat in the pulsing heart of London mere months after his graduation from Hogwarts, and had lived there quite happily with Muffles, albeit messily. Hermione often came to visit and spent hours cleaning the entire apartment, usually when she was PMSing and had the unexplainable urge to dust things. The only problem with the arrangement was that it was surprisingly easy to become lonely. Sure, Muffles was great company and, being a wizard's dog, could understand English, but his comments were rarely more than three words long and hardly ever branched from the subjects of food, food, and the finer points of cat torture.

Harry sighed and stripped himself of his clothes before stepping under the hot spray of water. It wasn't until he was halfway through the process of washing his long black hair that he realized his feet were still encased in now-soaking socks.

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"Oh, for Heaven's _sake_, Fred, put the gnome down and _get your scrawny butt in the car!" _Mrs. Weasley yelled to her son, concurrently shoving a box full of muffins into Ginny's outstretched hands and bewitching the dishes to wash themselves. With an impish grin Fred stuck the squealing gnome into his pants pocket when his fuming mother turned her head and bolted out the door, where he gracefully collided with his other half. Crashes resounded, accompanied by the screaming of fireworks and gnomes, a chicken cluck, and the whistle of a train. Ron and Mr. Weasley came bolting around the corner of the house to find Fred and George more entangled than Siamese twins. A squawking chicken lay crushed by George's freckled leg.

Mr. Weasley sighed and went to pick up both of their backpacks, which he smiled fondly at. Ron pulled the chicken from beneath his brother's leg, taking pity on the poor bird that was slowly being crushed, then hopped over the knot of arms and legs to enter the kitchen.

Twenty minutes and thirty three point five accidents later, Ron, Fred, George, and Mr. Weasley all sat in the car, watching the Burrow shrink to nothingness. Ron had his hands clamped onto his ears, both to keep his hands from throttling the two complaining twins in the back seat and to save his ears from the actual complaining. For Fred and George, it seemed, were not happy about having been left on the ground for five minutes without so much as an offer of help.

"I can't believe our own bloody family left us there to die." whined George.

"Did you see the amount of effort it took to get this oaf off of me?" complained Fred, earning a vicious glare from George.

"Are you calling me fat?"

"Not at all, dear brother, merely commenting on your lack of grace."

__

"My lack of grace? I do believe it was you who stumbled into me."

"No matter. It just would have been much more easy if _someone_ would have _helped _us."

"I agree. Not so much as a hand up or a word of comfort for a bruised ego."

"I'll never be able to sit down again, much less walk. Might as well just buy the wheelchair now."

George halted for a moment, considering his brother with a look of confusion. "If you can't sit, how are you bloody well going to stay in a wheelchair?"

"Stand up, of course."

George nodded, as though this answer made perfect sense, and went back to moaning about his broken back.

It wasn't until Ron finally snapped and grabbed his emergency stash of duct tape from his pocket that they shut up, eyeing the roll of gray tape with contempt. Ron smirked. Duct tape, fixer of anything: be it broken, leaking, cracked, or annoying brother.

The car made it to the station in one piece, mercifully, with surprisingly few mishaps and only one threat of a straightjacket for George, when he attempted to strangle Ron and steal the duct tape. After parking the car, the backpacks were carefully strapped to everyone's backs, save for Mr. Weasley, who looked at the Muggle contraptions fondly. He hugged each one of his fiery-haired sons in turn, before sending them off with a warning to be careful. As he watched them walk through the doors of the station, a tear fell down his cheek. _Parting is such sweet sorrow_ he thought, climbing into his car. He would probably never see those backpacks again.

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That was interesting. I love Fred and George…heh.


	2. Murphy's Law

Woohoo! The next installment to my wonderfully progressing story. Unfortunately the I may not be able to write for a week or so, because guess what, Jill's going backpacking! Hope this keeps you happy.

Disclaimer: The only things I hold to my name are a pair of dirty socks and the voices in my head. And Harry Potter is not one of the voices in my head. If you can't figure out that I don't own Harry, you must have failed Kindergarten.

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"I'll see you in two weeks!" shouted Hermione to her parents, waving as the small blue Chevy drove out of sight. As soon as it was gone, she sighed and hitched up her backpack, moaning about the relatively low amount of comfort the bag provided. She moseyed her way through the crowd of people standing in the ticket linein front of King's Cross, heading in the direction of the station map, but before she could reach the signpost a shout of laughter issued from down the hall. Hermione grinned, knowing in a heartbeat that it could have come from no other than Ronald Weasley.

Sure enough, as she rounded the corner, she sighted a flash of red mixed with a blur of purple lying on the ground. As far as she could tell, Ron and Muffles were participating in a vicious chicken fight, with Harry egging on his dog and George and Fred cheering on their brother.

"C'mon, boy, sic him!" yelled Harry, pointing to the struggling redhead on the ground.

"Go, Ronniekins, he's just a bloody dog! You can take him!" cried George, wincing as the purple opponent pounced onto Ron's back.

A panting Ron attempted to pin the wriggling fuzzball to the ground, but the latter was too quick: in a flash of fuschia he had his opponent down and began viciously licking him with a great pink tongue.

Hermione walked up to the battling duo unnoticed, bent down next to Ron and asked, "Finally quelled your natural urges for the day?"

He looked up at her wide-eyed in surprise, before grimacing and swatting at the Muffles, since the dog had slobbered on his nose. "Hermione! When did you get here?" asked Ron.

"Thirty seconds ago. You do realize the train leaves in three minutes, right?"

"It does? Shit!" exclaimed the youngest Weasley present, as he shoved Muffles off him and grabbed his backpack off the ground. Hermione offered a hand and pulled him up, marveling at how much he had grown (again). She guessed he was near 6'2" by now.

Their other companions had managed to reserve a compartment on the train by the time Hermione and Ron made it on, which turned out to be just in time. Ron had just barely stepped onto the train when the doors began to creak closed, meeting in the middle and catching a zipper on his backpack in the process. He struggled with the door for thirty seconds before giving an almighty yank, sending himself careening onto the floor and earning himself giggles from Hermione. He glared at her and made his way into the compartment, sitting down in a huff onto a strategically-placed Whoopee Cushion.

A man five compartments down was suddenly awoken by an undoubtably rude nosie, the hysterical mirth of four teenagers and one outraged yell, and he sat up quickly enough to bump his head against a shelf. The commotion lasted for about five minutes, much to his chargin, and he was about to go complain to the conductor when the noise stopped abruptly, accompanied by a flash of light. The man grumbled about rudeness and imaturity before rolling over and falling back into unconciousness.

A triumphant Ron stood above his other four companions, who had all suddenly had their mouths sewn shut, in a completely painless way of course. Ron smirked at his victims' helplessness, remembering the time he had first come across the Riveting Hex. He had been researching something insignificant for Potions, come across "1001 Ways to Shut People Up," and the rest, they say, is history. Or, rather, they don't say, because their lips were sewn together.

Ron was rudely awakened from his reminiscing by twin blurs of red leaping across the compartment, and only his Quidditch reflexes saved him from what probably would have been a very ugly encounter. Fred and George crashed into an empty seat because of Ron's sudden shift and, like a pair of bulls, this only made them even more enraged. Ron quickly took the hint as Harry and Hermione's eyes began to sparkle threateningly, and reversed the spell as quickly as he could.

The two hours on the train ride from London to Dover were quickly eaten up by Exploding Snap, Bertie Botts' eating contests (seeing who could endure the worst flavors the longest before spitting them gracelessly out the window), and listening to stories of how thoroughly boring everyone's summers had been. By the time the train reached the next station, everyone was doubled over laughing at Fred's recount of Ginny's reaction when she woke up to find multicolored muskrats having a pow-wow around her head one morning. Fred swore (on his grandmother's grave) that it had had nothing to do with him, but, as Ron pointed out, both of their grandmothers were still alive and kicking.

__

Still spitting out random giggles, the group stood up to pull down the bulging backpacks from the luggage racks-- at the exact same moment the train decided to throw on the brakes. Two backpacks and five people were thrown unceremoniously against the wall, ending up in a far worse predicament than Fred and George had been in only hours before.

Muffles had somehow escaped the fiasco and began tugging at Harry's shirt, digging his claws into Fred's back in an attempt to stop his master from squashing everyone else flat.

Hermione, weighing the least out of everyone present, had, of course, wound up on the bottom of the doggy pile. All of her appendages were completely numb and her chest was about to cave in as she cursed the laws of the one called Murphy. One by one she could feel the gargantuan boys lift themselves off of her wiry form. Finally it was only George crushing her into oblivion, and suddenly she felt extreme pity for the chicken he had sat on earlier (Ron had told them all about it on the ride over). She waited for about five seconds for him to get off her, but as soon as she realized he wasn't moving, she looked down at him. He was gazing intently up at her, his head resting in her lap, and she quirked an eyebrow in his direction.

"Yes?" she inquired.

"Mm…nothing, Hermione dear. I just never realized they had mountains in this part of England."

It took a while for the impact of this comment to hit, but hit hard it did; for George, that is. Days later he could be heard complaining about the prominent bruise that had decided to spread over his entire right shoulder. She shoved him off herself and grabbed her backpack before shooting out the door, muttering about perverts.

George could barely contain his grin, although it came out as more of a grimace as he clutched his wounded arm. That had totally been worth it.

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Haha, dirty, dirty George. For anyone who didn't understand the law/Murphy thing, it's what some people call Murphy's Law, or the tendency for something to always happen, like if you forget to bring a magazine to a doctor's appointment you'll have to wait forever and if you do bring one you'll wait for about five minutes. Hope that helps.


	3. Cutthroat Kindergarten Games

Sorry it took so long to update…my muses have been failing me. I apologize in advance for any geographically incorrect information I may have put in here, I've never been to England and don't know what these places are like, I'm just pulling them out of the Encyclopedia. Don't shoot me.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Clearasil, anything remotely involved with the HP series, or the Goonies. I do, however, own the name 'Apples.'

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Three bruises, four angry travelers (Fred swore he hadn't _tried_ to knock them over with his backpack) and a sprained finger later, the group was assembled at the far side of the platform. Hermione stood below the giant number seven marking their gate, muttering to herself as she studied the map before her. "Left, right, left, left…no, no, _right_…"

Ron stared at her from a distance, commenting to Harry, "I always knew that girl was raving mad." Harry grunted in agreement as he lifted his pack onto the luggage cart in front of him. Ron began debating the possibility that Hermione was schizo out loud, not even noticing when Harry relieved him of his bag. "D'you think it's normal for a girl to be talking to herself like that? I mean, she's done it countless times before, like that one time she thought Rita was an Animagus…just starts blabbing to herself, making no sense at all…"

Harry nodded and said "right" at random moments, before making his way over to the twins to collect their luggage and leaving Ron to rant.

Hermione, being the resident genius of the bunch, soon had them twisting their way through the small labyrinth that was the Dover train station. They had to stop once to let the bottomless pits fill themselves with fish and chips, but seeing as the boys were machines when it came to eating, the group was back on track in a record two minutes, thirty three and a half seconds (Ron was purely fascinated by the stopwatch on Hermione's digital wristband).

About three quarters of the way through the station, Fred began loudly complaining about the walk and his hand began inching towards the pocket of his jeans, where Harry knew he kept his wand. In a panicked moment Harry launched himself towards the aforementioned rascal, knocking his hand away from the dangerous stick of wood that would wreak havoc if used in a station full of Muggles."Bloody hell, Harry, what was that for?" whined Fred, looking crestfallen.

"D'you have any idea what the Muggles would do if you just disappeared into thin air?" answered Harry.

"Ah…no, not really."

"They'd go nuts! There would be newscasters, reporters, hysterical women screaming and men who immediately drive themselves to the optometrist, complaining about hallucinations!" shouted Harry, holding onto Fred's wrist to stop him from grabbing his wand.

"Wait…newscasters as in vellytision?" asked George, somewhat confused as to Harry's explanation.

"Newscasters as in television." answered the raven-haired boy, barely holding in a laugh.

"That's what I said, vellytision."

"Right…"

"So if Fred Disapparates, the vellytision people will come?" asked George, slowly inching closer to his other half.

Harry nodded, not quite catching the evil glint in George's eye.

"And I'll be on vellytision sets all over England?" he asked, leaning over to whisper something to Fred.

Harry nodded again, but this time his eyebrows were furrowed.

Fred began slowly inching his hand back down to his pants pocket as George distracted Harry by asking how a television worked. Harry started to tell the overly curious twin that he had no clue how the colored boxes functioned when his eye caught Fred's movements; but to his dismay, the hand was already inside the pants pocket…

His eyes caught a movement from behind Fred at that moment, and in a heartbeat a grin spread over his face. There stood Hermione, waving Fred's wand teasingly in her hand. Fred was hastily searching the floor for his wand by now, and Harry had a problem holding a straight face as he saw Hermione doubled over in silent mirth as she watched the helpless Weasley. With what looked like a lot of self-control, Hermione took pity on Fred, and she tapped the confused boy on the shoulder, waving the black stick in his face and shooting off down the corridor before he was able to snatch it out of her grasp. He immediately chased after her, dodging trains and carts and people in an attempt to restore his kidnapped magic.

George stole the luggage cart from Harry and began running it down the hall (and into people) in hot pursuit of the other two. Muffles ran beside him before jumping atop the mountain of backpacks, a great furry grin appearing on his face as the cart gained momentum. George, seeing the sheer joy that filled his doggy face, took a leaf out of Muffles' book and threw his upper half and one foot onto the back of the cart, leaving one foot dangling in order to power the cart and steer around potentially painful obstacles.

To bystanders the scene must have looked quite amusing, unless of course you were one of those unfortunate beings who were caught in front of the procession: a girl with a black stick followed closely by a loping red-haired giant in sweats, being chased by a runaway cart complete with five backpacks, a purple dog, and another red-haired giant laughing maniacally, and just when you thought it was safe to move down the hall again you were charged by a black-haired boy and another red-haired male, yelling down the hallway at the others.

The crash that followed all of this ruckus was almost as amusing as the chase had been, unless of course you were one of those unfortunate beings _in_ the procession that was run over by a cart laden with five backpacks, a purple dog, and a maniacally-laughing red-haired giant. It certainly wasn't amusing for Hermione, who was yet again crushed at the bottom of the pile, and was rendered so immobile that Fred was easily able to pluck the wand out of her limp grasp. George leapt off the cart and hauled the skinny girl up, apologizing profusely and dusting her off with such great gusto that she almost toppled over again. The bright side to all of this was that the group had finally made it outside, where the sun was beaming happily at them and the outside temp was a gorgeous 70°. Harry, who had avoided the messy pile-up, stuck out his wand hand, hailing the Knight Bus reluctantly. With a loud BANG! the monstrous, violently purple vehicle that could hardly be called a bus appeared on top of all the cabs lined up beside the station. A once-silver ladder appeared from above and all five of the teens slung on their backpacks before maneuvering their way up into the bus. The face of Stan Shunpike popped itself out the doorway, scaring Harry so badly he almost let go of the ladder.

"Jeez, Stan, don't ever do that to me again." he commented, hoisting his pack up to the wiry bellhop. It was then that he noticed a great change in Stan's appearance; he didn't have much of a choice, seeing as Stan refused to take his pack and stood there with both index fingers pointing to his face proudly. Harry nearly dropped the backpack on George's head.

"Your…your face…"

Stan broke into a grin that would have put the Cheshire Cat to shame. "My granny sent me this here Clearasil stuff, works wonders whether yer wizard or Muggle." he explained, holding up a little white bottle. It was true; Stan's face was completely pimpleless, and besides a bit of stubble he looked like a new penny.

Harry opened his mouth to say something when he felt an uncomfortable shove and a muffled voice from below him yelled, "Get a move on, will you? I'm about to drop this backpack on dear Hermione's head, and we wouldn't want it to mutilate her beauty, now would we?" said George as he pushed Harry upwards.

Fred laughed and agreed with him, "Eh, I don't know, why don't you try it, bro? It may be an improvement."

It was hard to tell who was in more pain by the time all five were aboard the now rapidly-zooming bus, Fred, or George. Both had received a hearty beating from the indignant brunette, who was currently fuming up in front with Harry and Ron. Both looked ready to take off running at the first sign of violence.

The ride to the dock was obscenely short and lasted all of five minutes, but Muggle traffic was in gridlock and Harry was incredibly happy that he had opted to ride the bus. Ern threw on the brakes rather hard, but Harry was used to the physical abuse the bus dealt out and held fast to his armchair. Fred was not so lucky, and wound up facedown on the ground for the umpteenth time that day, much to the amusement of Hermione.

"Channel Boat Docks!" called Apples, the Shrunken Head that rode in front with Ern. The six quickly exited the ginormous bus, saying goodbye to the still-beaming Stan, and hoofed it to the dock. A rather small blue boat was tied to the pier, the chipped white letters across its hull proudly proclaiming itself "The English Channel."

"_That's_ an original name." muttered Ron to George, causing the latter to snicker.

Hermione cast an anti-seasickness charm on them all when no one was looking. The sky was rapidly darkening and the wind was kicking up, and Hermione knew that the Weasleys were not fond of sea travel. They handed off their luggage to the brutish-looking man at the front of the ship before boarding the boat and grabbing a table in the cabin. Hermione pulled out a pack of Uno cards, and after explaining the extremely complicated rules, the game began, quickly becoming cutthroat.

"Sorry, Ron, but I gotta get rid of this card…" apologized Hermione, although it was less than sincere.

"Right. Thanks."

"No problem…"

"UNO!" yelled Harry, laying down a yellow 7 and proudly holding up his one remaining card.

"What?! But I still have all these cards…" gasped George, motioning to his hand, which held over twenty of them.

"Everyone gang up on Harry!" yelled Fred, and then the game got really ugly.

The boat was ten minutes into its voyage when the storm hit, calling an immediate halt to the vicious Kindergarten game. Hermione quickly gathered the cards and they all sat gloomily in the cabin, trying to hone in on the ghost story Ron was relaying and ignore the sounds of retching coming from all over the ship. Two minutes into the story Fred got fed up and pulled out his wand, tussling with Harry and finally covertly muttering a Soundless Spell on the table to block out the disgusting noises.

Fred sighed contently, listening to Ron talk about some murderer with a hook. _Thank God for magic_ he thought to himself, _I don't know _how_ the Muggles live without it._

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Meep. I'm done J . Hope it made you all happy. It made me happy, cuz I got past the second chapter! Yay! Go me!


	4. Lost?

Yeah! Cookies for me! I finally updated! Sorry it took so long…school started…ugh. A warm thanks to all my faithful reviewers :)

Disclaimer: HP= JK's.

* * *

"And then, even though the policeman told her not to, she looked. There, hanging by his neck from a tree, was her boyfriend, his foot knocking steadily against the roof of the car. Knock…knock…knock…." finished Ron, his voice barely audible even with the Silencing Spell in effect. Hermione gave a muffled scream and involuntarily moved away from Ron, winding up halfway in George's lap. George looked surprised for a moment, but decided not to move her so as to not make her even more upset…or so he told himself. The aforementioned girl buried her face in her hands and took a shaky breath, glaring as menacingly as a girl can when terrified out of her wits at Ron. "I _hate_ ghost stories." she whined to him.

George could feel her whole body convulsing in fear, her thigh twitching against his. George's stomach decided to give a little jolt, causing him to frown and wonder if that seasickness charm was wearing off already. He raised his wand to refresh the spell, completely ignoring the furious looks Harry was shooting him; he figured the Muggles were too busy re-examining the cupcakes they ate in first grade to worry about magic anyways. In doing so he accidentally poked the fear-struck creature sitting on him in the back, causing Hermione's head to turn as quick as an owl's. She whipped the unlucky twin in the face with her hair in the process, but she ignored his pain as she realized their current seating arrangement.

Hermione glowered with the intensity of a thousand suns at George, making him squirm with discomfort; the fact that his brothers and friend were throwing in their fair share of fire was making it even worse. He attempted to stutter an "I'm sorry" to her, but it was the apologetic puppy dog look in his cerulean eyes that finally provoked Hermione into moving herself.

She shot away from George, sending herself flying into yet another Weasley, and barely avoided ending up in _his_ lap. With a more controlled scoot she decided on a median between the brothers, carefully pulling in her elbows and making sure nothing even remotely on her person was touching anything remotely on theirs. Her paranoia-filled eyes darted around everywhere, jumping whenever anyone accidentally touched her, or, in Fred's case, 'accidentally' played footsie with her, just to get a rise. It wasn't that Hermione was still afraid of the Ron's story; she was more afraid of the deep blue pools lazily residing in George's face. And it wasn't even that she was really afraid of his _eyes_, oh no; she was most afraid of the incredible acrobatic performance her internal organs had put on while she tried to fight the swirling blueness. She was about ninety percent sure that her heart now resided somewhere near her bladder and her stomach was acting as a third lung.

A slight bump shuddered throughout the ship and a sharp blasting sound issued from above their heads, signaling that they had made it to Calais, France. The sky was still spitting down a few small kittens and Chihuahuas, but the rain for the most part had ended, leaving a somewhat dry group standing on the boat docks. The males all turned to Hermione for directions. She mumbled under her breath about the incompetence of men, but she led the way anyways, first to the bathrooms to relieve her gerbil-sized bladder, then up to the street, where she stuck out her right hand, thumb up.

It was quite a pity that the fresh graduates couldn't Apparate yet, but Dumbledore had been called by an old friend in the middle of a lesson (Hermione hadn't quite heard the name, but it sounded something like Gondorf) asking if the professor wanted to go bathtub-racing, for old time's sake. Dumbledore had politely excused himself, before Apparating out of the room, leaving the students less than a week away from getting their licenses; this had happened a week ago, and no one had seen him since.

A girly-sounding TOOT! brought Hermione crashing back to reality, and she barely had the foresight to move her foot before it was run over by an eighty-foot long hot pink limousine. A collective gasp of surprise issued from the men as they surveyed the fluorescent monstrosity. Harry even went so far as to clap his hand over his eyes to keep from being blinded by the pinkness. Hermione saw a perfect opportunity to pretend she was a guide book, and launched into an explanatory speech, "Le Petit Marie, the car you see here, was manufactured in 1354 by Calais' blacksmith, a resident genius of his time, out of magically enhanced iron. The wheel was too inefficient for such a heavy vehicle, so Blimbus Dumbledore (the many-times-great grandfather of our old Headmaster) charmed the vehicle to fly." Hermione proudly spouted, and as they all looked down they saw that it was, indeed, hovering six inches off the ground.

"And whose ingenious idea was it to paint the car pink?" asked Fred, a look of disgust on his face.

"Well…as far as we know, the blacksmith's." mumbled Hermione.

"What?!"

"Apparently he grew tired of black all day long." she replied, making all the boys go into fits of unmanly giggles.

"That he did, miss." said a timid voice from the rear of the vehicle. But if you don't mind, we'd like to be off, so if you'll just be so kind to step in…"

The group filed towards a petite French woman dressed in (what else) pink, stepped through the tiny door and were immediately floored- not only by the immense size of the interior but by the speed with which the driver took off. He soon had them flying through the slightly cloudy sky at a leisurely pace, a greatly appreciated feature when compared to England's Knight Bus.

Hermione began speaking to the driver in flawless French, telling him their final destination. Ron watched Hermione in awe, jumping her once the driver had agreed on a price.

"You never told us you spoke French!" he exclaimed in her direction, earning a cool look in return.

"You never asked." she replied snootily, and turned to continue examining the inside of the flying vehicle. It was quite amazing what magic could do to a seemingly normal limo; there were a full four stories ("to show up the English" explained Hermione), three chandeliers, a plethora of day couches and plush arm chairs, along with writing desks and bookshelves lining the walls. Their ride was almost too short aboard the Marie, since the driver set the vehicle down gently onto a small grassy hill not twenty minutes after takeoff.

The group exited and heard the rumbling limo take off behind them. Only after it had gone did they realize that they were standing on top of a hill, surrounded by wildflowers and grasses and rabbits and small trees and all the happy sounds of nature…not a road or city or person to be seen. For some reason, the male components weren't too happy with this last part.

"Um…where are we?" asked Harry, the first to break the increasingly confused silence.

"France." answered Hermione simply, an impish grin spreading over her face.

"Really? Hadn't noticed." George put in, sarcasm hanging on every word.

"Seriously, Hermione…this isn't funny. Where the hell are we?" asked a slightly panicked Ron.

"I already told you, France!" she called over her shoulder; she had already begun to walk down the hill, tightening the straps on her backpack as she went.

"Damn it, Granger, get us out of here!"

"I am."

Ron noticed that she was already far away from him, and took off sprinting down the hill. He promptly tripped over a rock and found himself barreling down the hill at increasingly terrifying speeds, finally reaching the bottom and crashing into a rotten old log. He quickly dusted himself off and then threw himself at Hermione, grabbing her around the stomach and mercilessly digging his fingers into her sides. George could vaguely hear his voice waft up the hillside, "If you don't tell me, I'll just tickle it out of you!" quickly followed by a shriek of laughter. George momentarily grimaced, wishing…no. He didn't wish that. Did he? Oh, shit. He did.


	5. Zombies!

For those of you who complained about Hermione being too uptight, I reread my writing and agreed with you, so she's beginning to loosen up. I just made her that way because she was the only girl and everyone picked on her…but anyways. If she's not better, I give you permission to strangle me. Peace out.

Disclaimer: HP JK

* * *

George was jostled from his thoughts by a red-headed blur shooting past him, and he heard a faint 'whoop!' as his twin threw himself down the hill. His prankster instincts took over and he followed in suit, hitting the soft grass with a thump! before rolling sideways down the hill, gaining speed and wishing the sky and ground would stop flipping in circles. He spotted a jumble of black about three feet in front of him and threw out his appendages in an attempt to stop, but to no avail: he crashed into his brother, sending them both sprawling. George looked left and saw Hermione pinned by Ron, squealing helplessly with mirth, and in a fit of…er..something, George sprung over and relieved his brother from the task. George immediately grabbed at her sides, chuckling as tears of laughter trickled down her face.

"G..George…st..stop! P…ple…please!" she gasped out in between giggles, fruitlessly trying to free her pinned hands.

He only refreshed his assault, putting his face three inches from hers and telling her, "Only if you tell us where we are."

"N..Never!" she yelled, causing both Fred and Ron to join in the battle. Hermione's face clenched in an effort to not give up, but the attempt was futile. Muffles jumped into the fray, licking her face and smothering her upper body in incredibly tickly purple fur.

"Agh!" Hermione screamed in defeat. "Alright, alright! I give!" Ron and Fred moved away, but George stayed on her, pinning her down for…uh…reassurance that she would really tell them. Yeah, that was it.

"We're about a mile away from Diern Alley, Belgium." she answered, wiping tears from her face. She was about to continue her explanation, figuring none of them would know about it, when a slightly winded voice spoke from behind them.

"Hey, I've heard of that. It's a little wizarding village, located inside of a low hill. It's designed to look like an ancient burial ground, so the only Muggles who come by are archaeologists. Ancient wizards put spells on it, so whoever came too close would be chased out by the living dead--it keeps Muggles away and keeps the zombies amused. Win-win situation, wouldn't ya say?" said Harry, bending down to give Muffles a good scratch.

They all watched the show of affection with smiles on their faces, but Ron quickly noticed that Muffles had a slightly red tinge to his fur. Ron looked up at Harry and opened his mouth, before realizing that Harry, too, was in a full-body blush.

"The sun's setting!" he said in surprise, noticing the flaming ball that was, indeed, sinking slowly behind a low hillock. "C'mon, I'd say we have about ten minutes before the daylight's gone."

Ron, as it turns out, was almost right. Five minutes into their hike someone switched the sun off, and the long gray shadows melted into inky blackness. Hermione boldly led the way, relying on the feeble light her wand emitted. "We have to be there by now" she muttered to herself, although the others could hear her perfectly. "Where _is_ it?…Ouch!" Hermione groaned as her toe hit something hard. She held her wand closer to the offending article, whispering excitedly, "Oh, good! It's a gravestone." the relief was audible in her voice, but her joy was dampened by a low guttural moan…coming from the ground.

"What was that?" squeaked Ron, clutching onto Harry's shoulder.

"Don't panic, Ron." whispered Harry, although his voice was high-pitched.

"Just for the record, we _are_ all wizards here, right?" asked Fred, the light tone usually present in his voice gone. His eyes, along with everyone else's, traveled to Hermione's pale face.

"Zombies _hate_ Muggles."

"Even half-Muggles?" asked George, involuntarily moving closer to Fred.

"Even half-Muggles." she confirmed, barely audible.

She then screamed bloody murder as something clutched at her bare ankle. It wrapped itself mercilessly around her delicate flesh, cold and hard and unforgiving. Something sharp raked across her heel, and something warm trickled down into her shoe. It was this more than anything that aroused a serious feeling of danger in Hermione, and her defense mode kicked into high gear. She clutched at whatever had a hold of her, wrenching with shaking hands.

"Help me!" she wailed to the fear-struck teens surrounding her.

Harry lowered his wand automatically to her foot, gasping with surprise as the eerie green light outlined the skeletal hand of one long dead, the wretched bones clasped tight and the connected arm protruding from the ground. He immediately dropped his wand and grasped at the hand, his hands slippery with Hermione's blood and his fingers numb with cold. _It shouldn't be this cold. It's July. Why is it so cold?_ Thought Harry as he felt the bones give way to his powerful hands. Hermione gave a desperate wrench and threw herself backwards. George clutched onto her, unable to tell if he was shaking or if she was or if it was a collective effort. The zombie let go but gave an enraged growl from below the surface, and it was all the sign they needed to get the hell out of there. As they ran, they could hear the spectral moans and creaks of heavily arthritic bones of zombies as they hauled themselves from ancient graves. If any of them had cared to look behind them, they would have seen an entire army of the brutes, running pell-mell towards the frightened wizards.

Hermione had just yelled that they were almost to the entrance when a realization hit Harry with such force he stopped running. "My wand! I left it…back there…" Harry turned, but Hermione grabbed his robes, her eyes filled with the speeding zombies. "Accio wand!" she yelled, as another realization hit Harry: he was an idiot. The wand came zooming over the heads of the zombies and Hermione turned as soon as it was reunited with its master. She began beating against a gravestone on the ground with her feet, before jumping on top of it and hopping up and down. George was torn between asking whether she was crazy, had a bee in her shorts, or was doing something to open the door into the village when the gravestone sunk into the ground, dragging Hermione down with it.

They all crowded around the gaping hole and were relieved to see their friend safe…on a cobblestoned street? She yelled frantically up at them to jump down, and they did so without further ado. As soon as Muffles was clear she rapped the sunken stone sharply on the side, sending it rocketing up to fill the hole and bash the leading zombie in the head. Harry sighed with relief, and sank down against a dusty store window. Fred, however, would hear none of it, and ran off down the street to a well-lit pub. A sign above it flashed, "Frog Guts Pub."

"Come on, I'm starving!" yelled Fred, before opening the door. A dramatic increase in volume followed, but was quickly shut off by the slamming of the door as Fred disappeared from view.

"Doesn't waste any time, does he?" asked Harry, struggling to lighten the mood. They were all still badly shaken, even Fred. George could tell by the way he had run to his only comfort: food.

Hermione laughed weakly, while performing a complex healing charm on her foot. "Must run in the family." she said, looking pointedly at Ron. "Oh, ew." Ron stopped chuckling to look at what Hermione had just picked off her skin: a rotten old piece of tendon: a gift from the zombie. She flicked it away disgustedly, wondering if it was just her imagination, or if the tendon had really started twitching while she held it. She hobbled quickly down the street after the Bottomless Pit.

By the time the thoroughly shaken group made it to the pub, Fred had ordered a round of butterbeers and reserved two rooms. They plunked themselves down and relayed their orders to the skinny blonde waitress, then watched as she shifted gracefully through the madly dancing crowd. They didn't last long once the meals and butterbeers were finished; the cigarette smoke was slowly giving them throbbing migraines and the music wasn't helping.

There was a scuffle for room arrangements that ended up in a heated competition of Papyrus-Quill-Wand. Fred, George, and Hermione filed slowly into Room 5, while Harry, Ron, and Muffles entered 6. Five's occupants quickly changed into pajamas, allowing Hermione the bathroom, and they had a quick laughing bout over her ducky pajamas. She playfully stuck out her tongue at both of them, before kidnapping Fred's stuffed mouse and leading him on a wild goose chase throughout the hotel. He lost her after a minute and spent five searching for her on the third floor, before giving up, walking back to his room, and finding Hermione zonked out on her bed, Burrow the mouse tucked securely under her arm. Fred smiled and pulled the covers up to her chin, giving her an awkward pat on the head before hopping into his bed and falling into a dreamless sleep.


	6. Leprechauns and Packages

Hi guys…sorry I've been so neglectful of my story…it happens when one takes far too many AP classes to live with. Grr…

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, I could die and be happy. Unfortunately I don't, so please, don't kill me.

* * *

Sunlight streamed through the painfully clean window, streaking Ron's face with gold. The disturbance caused him to wrinkle his forehead into a frown, before opening one olive green eye to face the morning. The shock of light after eight hours of blackness nearly blinded him, but in any case it forced him to fully wake up. Ron pulled the maroon covers over his head in an attempt to invite sleep back to his body, but to no avail. He groaned in annoyance. This was one of the many Weasley curses, passed on for generations: once awake, the person in question would not be able to fall back asleep, regardless of the time. His eyes flickered towards the clock, afraid of what he might find. He groaned again in disgust. A glittering array of multicolored pixies danced in lines across the face of the clock, forming themselves into a gigantic "6, 3, and 0" in succession. A tiny voice could be heard yelling, "Smile! Never forget to smile! Aaand…switch!" Dozens of tiny purple pixie legs shot into the air, their owners sculling furiously to stay atop the water captured inside the clock. "6..3..1..6..3..1..."

Ron realized he had been staring at the clock in amusement for an unnaturally long amount of time, and rolled himself out of bed. He padded over the worn wooden floor towards the bathroom, stifling a chuckle as he glanced at Harry. The latter was involved in a fight to the death with his blankets, and Ron couldn't tell who was winning. He was about to close the door when his friends voice rang out, "The Koosh has stolen my chicken!"

Ron had no idea what a "Koosh" was, so the humor of the situation was lost on him as he adjusted the six nozzles lining the tub. He stripped down, stepped in, and was lost in a world of blissful green bubbles within seconds.

The Weasley curse had worked its evil upon George as well, who awoke as soon as he heard splashing from the room next to him. George took one glance at the obscenely happy pixies dancing their way across the face and threw his pillow at the clock, a grin coming to his face as high-pitched screams reached his ears. _Serves them right_. _Being perky at 6:30 a.m…_ he thought, before hastily throwing on clothes and bolting down to the café before his stomach imploded. A sign near the door announced that breakfast was self-serve, so George picked up a menu, calmly directed his order towards his plate, and dug into the trout-and-mushroom omelet that appeared there with gusto.

If George had paid a hint of attention to anything besides his grumbling organ, he would have noticed that one of the beds in his room was empty: primly made, but empty. Its occupant was currently moseying around the streets of Diern Alley, peering into clean store windows at hand-carved toys and homemade sweets. The alley on a whole had a very homey feel, with ancient buildings and an inviting atmosphere. It was hard for Hermione to believe that this city was buried underneath a hill and surrounded by Muggle-hating zombies, but the underside of the hill was charmed to look like the sky (somewhat like the Great Hall at Hogwarts, she noticed fondly) and the zombies were a necessary (if overdone) precaution.

Hermione was under the impression that half the town was awake at this obscene hour of the morning, and none of them looked tired in the least. She gave it no second thought, since the alley's name corresponded with this unnatural habit, and continued gazing into shop windows, giving the occasional cheery wave to a passing inhabitant. In less than twenty minutes she had meandered her way across the entire town, and as she came to the end of the street she stopped abruptly, staring at the wall in front of her. It was a solid blue color, with wispy white blobs floating lazily through its depths. It took her a few moments to realize she was staring at the sky. The hill apparently ended here, and this was where the gently curving slope came back to meet the ground. She reached her hand out and touched a cloud, which was indeed what the white thing had been, and began to laugh with delight when it squirmed and giggled. A childish instinct overtook her mind and she stuck both hands into the blue up to the wrists, poking at all the clouds in reach. It was kind of like being in a Muggle store, squeezing all the talking toys and watching with amusement as they all started making noise; or maybe when someone blows a bunch of bubbles and you take off running, trying to pop them all before they hit the ground.

A loud growl brought her back to her senses and she pulled her hands out of the sky with a plopping sound, watching as the surface rippled like water. The grumble came again, causing her to look down at what was causing it: her stomach. Hermione bid the clouds farewell with a happy smile on her face, before letting her feet lead her back to the Pub. She opened the door and found the entire group digging into their breakfasts. She grabbed a menu, although it was unnecessary, since she already knew she was in the mood for Hexcakes. A stack of the hexagonally shaped wizard concoctions appeared, and Hermione instantly knew she was in heaven as she smothered them in syrup.

* * *

The teenagers went their separate ways after breakfast was over, scattering themselves over the entire town. Fred and George, of course, took off to explore the local joke shop and try to commandeer some ideas for new products back in Diagon Alley; Muffles had gone off with an extremely pretty green poodle; Harry, Ron, and Hermione milled around all the shops, spending an especially long time in the Broom Bungalow, a tiny hut that specialized in Quidditch brooms. Ron and Harry were standing enthralled beside a customized flying apparatus, and Hermione was reminded vaguely of Muggle boys who were overly-obsessed with their cars.

She poked Harry in the ribs, telling him she was going next door to the bookshop, but her statement was drowned out by an exclamation from Ron,

"Will you _look _at that acceleration? It's amazing! Abso-bloody-lutely amazing!"

Hermione left with a huff, opening the door and watching the tiny bells chime. She received quite a shock when she realized that the enchanted sky was letting loose a downpour and pulled her hood over her frizzy hair. She ran as fast as she could to the little brown door enhanced with golden accents, hurriedly turning the handle and pushing the door open.

It was oddly warm inside the little shop, and she could see her sweatshirt begin to steam as the water evaporated. She read the peeling letters written across the window: DragonLore. _Interesting name for a bookshop_ she thought to herself, but her thoughts were put on hold as her ears picked up the noise of footsteps. She turned to see a tiny old man step out from the shadows; he could not have stood five feet from the ground and looked as if he had outlasted his expiration date. It was his face, however, more than his odd stature, that caused Hermione to take an immediate liking to him. Sparkling hazel eyes shone from his cutely wrinkled face, and a smile devoid of teeth graced his mouth.

"Well hello, dearie, is there anything in particular I can help you with on this fine day?" he spoke, his voice surprisingly full of vigor and energy.

"Oh, no, thank you, I was merely looking."

His eyes shone all the brighter.

"I beg to differ, miss."

Hermione was unsure what to say. He beckoned to her and she unconsciously followed him into a room adjacent to the main shop. The man had his back turned towards her and was rustling around in a drawer, muttering to himself, "Now where did that go? I left it here a few days ag…ah! Here it is!"

Hermione jumped as he turned. He held a plain box in his hand, slightly tattered and worn from years of existence.

Hermione wordlessly took it from him, holding it as though it were a priceless relic, although she had no idea what was contained inside. She felt a little hazy, as though she were living inside a dream. A million questions were fighting to escape her voice box, but something kept her silent. She turned on one heel, still clutching the tiny box, and heard the man's parting words, "No meeting is without reason. You will know when to use it."

Hermione was outside in the slackening drizzle before she broke out of her trance, and realized that she hadn't even learned the man's name.

Her thoughts were again distracted by a loud laugh that issued from her left, and she looked up at the familiar sound to see something quite unexpected. A rainbow had formed during her bookstore excursion, and, as is typical, a pot of Galleons was located at the end of it-- which just so happened to be ten feet away. What she didn't expect to see, however, was George struggling to restrain a green-clad little man with pointed shoes and a clover sticking from his leaf-green hair. Ron was laughing uproariously as Fred began to steal the gold, stuffing his pockets with it and running off to spend it before it disappeared. The man at the candy store window was quite confused by Fred's odd behavior, but handed over the sweets and didn't realize his mistake until his boss fired him a month later for "missing funds."

The little green man, who was, indeed, a Leprechaun, had begun to get nasty. George was having a hard time restraining him and had resorted to sitting on his stomach, but even this was having its drawbacks as the points of the man's shoes contacted his thighs repeatedly. Finally George had had enough.

"Stop it, you little rat!" he yelled, putting his face right up next to his captive's.

"Well, at least I'm little!" retorted the Lep in a lilting Irish accent, "Ye must weigh at least a hundred pounds!"

"Are you calling me fat?" George whined, even though everyone could tell it was meant to be a joke.

The Irishman struggled to keep from laughing. "The least you could do is learn me name before insulting the pants off 'o me."

"Alright then, what're you called?"

"Tilly the Leprechaun, you impudent whelp."

"Well then, Tilly, if you don't mind me asking, why do you have an Irish accent if you live in Belgium?"

"Probably because I come from Ireland. Now if you'd be so kind…" he motioned to George, who was still partially smushing the three-foot-tall being.

"Erm…aren't you supposed to go bonkers over your lost gold?" asked Harry timidly, afraid that Tilly might do just that.

"Not a problem, laddy buck" he said, waving his hands and surprising everyone as his pot of gold was refilled. He gave them all a cheery wave and magically shrunk his gold before picking it up, stepping into the sky and walking up the rainbow to disappear behind a cloud.

"Hmm. That was decidedly weird." muttered Fred, although it was muffled by a huge glob of Glowing Gumdrop stuck inside his mouth.

The others nodded in agreement before heading off to the pub again. Hermione had informed them that they were leaving at noon, but said person was trailing behind, examining the rumpled package in her hand, so Muffles led the way instead. They suited up, readjusting the straps of their heavy backpacks, and stepped back into the street to find it was pouring again. Spatters of rain spurred the lethargic group into action, and they began jogging along, Hermione in the lead.

About halfway through the town she made an abrupt turn into an alleyway, over which hung a sign that proudly flashed, "The Gateway to the World." George snickered, muttering to Fred, "Facetious, are we?" and smirked as his twin guffawed.

His rauctious laughter was put to a halt when they stepped into the seemingly dark alley, and his jaw dropped in disbelief. They were surrounded by thousands upon thousands of doors- short ones, tall ones, purple ones, glowing ones, wooden ones, stone ones…one was studded with what appeared like stars. There were rows of them, stacked up past where Fred's eye could see, seeming to fly into the sky. They were all standing speechless, staring at the doors in wonder-- besides Hermione, of course. She was pouring over a map on the wall, and finally said happily to them, "C'mon, the Alps are this way."

George was walking in a daze. His eyes zipped across the silver plates stuck to each door, revealing what lay on the other side…Antarctica, Japan, Santa's House (George was sorely tempted by this door), Australia-- the names flew by in a whirlwind of color. He only realized that the others had stopped when he ran headlong into them; his eyes were too busy staring at the door that read "Pluto."

His head whipped around and he caught his falling brother out of reflex, before staring into the doorway they were perched under. A dazzling whiteness made him sincerely wish he had sunglasses on, but he forced his eyes open to witness the spectacular sight: beyond the door there was only snow-- perfect, shining, untouched snow-- piled atop a mountain that seemed too large to be real. Hermione smiled and bundled up her coat before stepping into the crunchy snow. A mischevious glint came into her eye and she yelled a word that the Weasleys were all to familiar with… "SNOWFIIIIIIIIGHT!"

* * *

That was exciting! A cookie to anyone who can figure out which alley Diern Alley is the complete opposite of…

And a kind thank you to all of my faithful reviewers.


	7. Schneeburg

I'm such a bad person. Sorry to my dear, beloved reviewers and readers--homework is killing me and inspiration has all but failed. To everyone who answered that Diern Alley is the opposite of Knockturn Alley, I give you a cyber cookie. I would give you real ones, but I'm on a diet, so we don't have any in the house…ha. To anyone who didn't get it, it's diurnally (meaning awake during the day) and nocturnally (awake at night). You wouldn't believe how long it took for me to realize that Diagon Alley was really 'diagonally.'

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The first five minutes of the Alpine snow war were dealt out in an every-man-for-himself type display, but teams slowly began to form as certain people ganged up on one another. The twins were the most adamant in team-forming, since they kept coming up with ingenious tactics to disarm the other, and a well-thrown snowball from Hermione aimed at Fred's ear landed her a place alongside George. He gave her a sidelong grin and began chucking snow double-time at Harry, who had recently been knocked down by Ron. Muffles bowled Ron over in retaliation for his master, and thus the war truly began.

Hermione, George, and Ron magicked snow into a ten-foot high igloo of fort goodness, and Fred and Harry threw together a hasty six-foot wall. Muffles worked on rolling huge snowballs with his nose, plopping them next to Fred and watching as the latter levitated them over to the igloo and let them wreak havoc.

Hermione made a simple catapult design that fired ammo rapidly at the opposing team. Ron worked on conveying snow into the fort through the back door, and George packed it into snowballs. The war carried on much like this, until George got bored and decided to liven things up a bit. With two simple "_Reducto_"s, the forts were reduced to rubble and hand-to-hand combat commenced. Wands were forgotten and hands frozen as the teenagers resorted to Muggle techniques of snowball-making.

Mini-battles broke out on both sides of the hillside. On one side of the battlefield, behind an old tree, Harry and Ron were going at it, with projectiles being thrown so fast an onlooker would have a hard time telling who was winning. There was a momentary lull in the action as Harry bent to retrieve more snow for ammo, and Ron seized his chance. Quick as a flash, he had shoved a handful of snow down the back of Harry's jeans, causing the latter to dance a jig in pain. He dug as much snow as he could out of his boxers. The great majority had already melted. He searched around for Ron, but nothing could be seen except for the great purple blot that was Muffles, sitting off to one side and watching the battles in amusement. Harry was about to laugh at his dog when he saw a flash of red a ways off under a snowbank. He pulled out his wand and formed a huge snowball the size of his head. Harry yelled the levitation spell before walking towards the snowbank, a malicious grin on his frozen face.

Muffles whuffed in boredom and turned his attention to the other raging battle. A few feet to his left, the twins were involved in a wrestling match. Hermione was acting as commentator and referee--at least, she was until Fred grabbed her foot and dragged her into the fray. She retaliated with a good, old-fashioned face-washing, grinning at her handiwork until George dumped snow all down her back. Hermione tackled George and sent them rolling down a small hill. They came to rest inches from a rather large tree, causing George to spit out a mouthful of snow and mutter, "That was close."

He looked up at her and she could feel her cheeks burn for an unknown reason. Hermione deliberately looked anywhere but his face, and her attention focused on an icicle hanging from a tree nearby. Drip….drip….drip….drip…Hermione watched each drop of melted ice fall from the tip. She became so enthralled by it, in fact, that it took George at least a minute to gain her attention.

"Hermione…" he muttered, slightly amused.

She kept staring.

"Herm."

Nothing.

"Herm!"

What the bloody hell was so fascinating about that icicle?

"HERMIONE!" he yelled, and added a poke to her side for good measure.

She jumped and looked down, finding herself again lost in George's deep cerulean eyes. "What?" she asked dumbly.

"You…you….um…" he trailed off, fidgeting with a loose thread on Hermione's jacket. Hermione never found out what she was, because at that precise moment a snowball was lobbed into the snow-laden branches of the pine tree above them, causing a waterfall of wetness to cascade onto their heads. Fred's orange head popped up from up above, yelling down at them good-naturedly, "Oh, kiss her already!"

Harry and Ron's heads came into view at Fred's proclamation. Hermione hastily shoved herself off of George, trying not to think about how firm his chest was--unsuccessfully, of course. She ran up the hill to give Fred a piece of her mind. George, however, sat under the tree in a dazed state until the tree threw more snow at him. He glared up at it and hauled himself to his feet, walking back to the rest of the group to find them fully dry and all packed up, ready to begin hiking.

The group trekked about two miles through the knee-deep snow, struggling to keep themselves from sinking into unseen snow drifts. More than one unlucky teen had been hauled from a chest-deep mound of frozen water, sputtering and shivering, during the three hours it took to reach their current location.

Ron stumbled as his foot hit an unseen rock beneath the innocent white layer of snow, causing him to fall onto his back in the powdery substance. His hair splayed out behind his head and a great cloud of disturbed snowflakes twirled around his body.

"I'm done. There's no bloody way you're getting me to move another step. Leave me if you must. I'll just stay here until I die a frozen, lonely death." he sighed dejectedly, wiping his face clean of snow.

Fred and George had extremely happy looks on their faces, probably hoping their sibling would carry through with his proposition.

"Can we get that in writing?" asked Fred, holding out a fire-engine red phoenix-feather quill and spare bit of parchment he had recently conjured.

Ron simply glared.

"Apparently not. Rude, really, not speaking to his own blood and kin." commented Fred, tucking the quill and paper away.

"Do you know, I think the bloke could use a bit of Babbling Bubblegum." agreed George, pulling out something shiny out of his pocket.

Seeing the slightly bewildered look on Hermione's face, the troublesome twins explained in one of their famous 'Dynamic Duo' acts.

"Newest invention, Hermione dear…" began Fred.

"We would've liked to call it 'Bouncing Blue Babbling Bubblegum,'…" continued George.

"But it wouldn't fit on the label." the twins commented in unison.

"It turns the person blue…"

"Makes them bounce like a kangaroo…"

"And makes them talk a thousand and one words per minute." Fred and George said in perfect harmony, grinning like maniacs.

"Good for parties…"

"Great for kids…"

"And even better for…"

"Annoyingly silent people." they finished, and George brandished the blue cube in Ron's direction, only to find him with both hands clamped firmly over his mouth.

The two advanced on Ron, but their attention was averted to Harry, who was spread-eagled in the snow a hundred meters up the slope. Various obscenities traveled down the slope as he struggled fruitlessly to right himself, much to the amusement of the twins.

"First day with your new feet, Harry?" yelled George, laughing uproariously when Harry retaliated with a badly-thrown snowball.

"It wasn't my bloody fault! There's a barrier or something here…" he yelled back, obviously annoyed, and began pushing at the air in front of him.

"Sure there is, Harry!" laughed George.

"Whatever you say, Harry!" guffawed Fred.

It wasn't until Harry disappeared from view did they stop laughing.

"Harry?" asked Ron, bewildered.

Nothing. Harry Potter had totally and completely vanished into thin air.

Muffles gave a soulful howl and trotted up the slope, sniffing dejectedly for any trace of his missing master. He prodded his nose into the place where Harry's footprints stopped and looked up, looking slightly confused. His violet snout pushed on the air, sniffing, sniffing, and then…Muffles' head vanished.

Hermione gasped. It was a little disturbing to see a fully-living, headless purple dog. Muffles' great purple tail began to wag in a happy way, and he seemed completely unaware that he was missing part of his anatomy. A few seconds later, however, a head came into view--granted, it was black-haired, not purple.

Fred raised an eyebrow in amusement. A headless dog standing next to a bodiless human. _If only I could find a way to put the two together…_ he thought, throwing a covert glance at his partner in crime. George grinned in return, and Fred knew immediately what their next WWW product would be.

Before they could begin planning out the details to this new scheme, the raven-haired head yelled down to them, "Get up here! You've got to see this!"

It was a perfect incentive for the rest to sprint up the slope to where Harry's head floated. Hermione and Ron ended up racing the last few meters, laughing and stumbling in their haste to reach their friend first.

Hermione glanced in front of her to make sure she was headed in the right direction, then looked to the right to check on Ron's progress. Her smile slowly dropped into a frown as she realized she was now running alone, and whipped her head backwards as she continued to run. She could vaguely see Ron a few feet behind her, although his image was fuzzy. He looked slightly blue and seemed to be holding his nose, which was bleeding freely. Hermione came to an abrupt halt, turning her body completely around and watching all three Weasleys gaze about stupidly.

"Should we help them, or should we leave them?" asked the voice of Harry from her left. Hermione let out a muffled squeak of surprise, staring at Harry as though she had never seen him before.

"You're….you're…full again. I mean…you got your body back…" she stammered.

Harry smirked, then looked back towards the three brothers, his eyes dancing with barely contained laughter as he watched Fred hurl himself against what Hermione now knew to be a barrier.

"Should we tell them?" reiterated Harry.

"Hmm…" replied Hermione, feigning an inner debate.

Muffles barked in annoyance.

"Ah, c'mere, you great stupid dog…" said Harry, walking over to his stuck pet. He grabbed onto his collar and tugged him to the left, as opposed to dragging him all the way through. Harry had pulled Muffles no more than ten feet when he stopped, dropped the collar, and stepped back, calling his dog as he went. Muffles gave a happy yip and bounded the rest of the way through. As his legs and trunk came into view, Hermione caught the faint shimmer of a rectangular outline in the blue barrier. Her quick-thinking brain came to the conclusion that it must be a door, and the very place she had been lucky enough to run through while racing Ron.

Taking pity on the twins and Ron, who were now rotating in circles calling out their lost friends' names, Hermione walked up to the scintillating doorway and stuck her upper body through it.

Her head appeared twenty centimeters from Fred's face. His face contorted into a look of pure shock and he clutched at his chest, gasping out, "Merlin, Hermione! You almost gave me a heart attack."

She simply laughed and stuck out her hand, telling Ron to hold onto it. He obliged, then held out his free hand for George to link onto. Fred caught George's arm in a death grip, taking deep breaths and glaring at Hermione fiercely.

Hermione pulled them through the doorway and turned to face Harry. She stopped, however, before she could get her eyes to him, and goggled at the sight in front of her.

A tiny village made completely of ice loomed before her, with a two-story palace standing majestically in the very center. Groups of opaque igloos stood around it, with crisscrossing roads meandering from one mound to the next. As Hermione continued to watch, she noticed a small figure making its way towards them, skipping down one of the crystalline roads and singing a happy tune.

The figure kept getting closer, but it didn't get a great deal larger. Ron was under the impression that it was still standing about fifty meters away when it stopped in front of them, a toothy grin on its rosy-cheeked visage. Its violet eyes lit up as it looked at the towering humans above it.

"Hullo, chaps, and welcome to Schneeburg." it boomed, taking them all aback. The creature before them stood a mere three feet off the ground, and yet its voice was deeper than any of the males present.

He snapped his fingers and five other similar creatures came scurrying out from behind other igloos, all a different color of the rainbow. George watched in fascination as a yellow midget grabbed his pack from his back, lifted it high above his head as though it were a feather, and sprinted off down the street, chuckling merrily.

"Follow me, follow me." commanded the original violet critter, turning on his heel and skipping back down the road. The teens looked at eachother. As one, they shrugged and hopped onto the icy path, staring around them as snowflakes began to fall.

* * *

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